Amaranthine
by Kannilia
Summary: Amaranthine: Some things never die
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, burrito!**

**As you will notice, there is a fictional character named Arista Grace. She's best friends with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, so it's basically the Golden _Quad_. Just thought you should know! Hope ya enjoy the story... *booming female voice* _Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show..._**

**_*Note: MUST read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince before reading this. There are lots of holes, which you won't understand if you haven't read the real book. Sorry if this is an inconvenience, there were just some parts that I thought were to unimportant for a fanfic. Thanks!  
_**

Chapter One

The Hogwarts Express steamed down the rustic railway, swaying a little around each bend. Arista Grace peered out the window, gripping the glass with her frigid fingers. Rain drops slid past her eyes, following the tracks before them. Squinting, she tried to make out what was beyond the cold glass. Was tha--

"Ris? Ris! _Arista_!"

Ron Weasley prodded her arm with a distorted chocolate frog.

"_What_?" she snapped, elbowing his ribs harshly. Instantly, her eyes widened and she recoiled as far away from him as she could, pressing her back into the corner. "I'm sorry," she half spoke, half whispered. Then, she squeezed her eyes closed and leaned her head back into the seat.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged taken aback glances, but remained silent. Something was up, but they weren't going to ask her... now.

Suddenly, the compartment door slid open. They heard a kind, familiar voice.

"Would you like something, dearies?" the old lady asked, pushing forward her cart of snacks. Ron and Harry of course, pulled out their coin bags and emptied them, pointing energetically at what they wanted. After the lady left, they sat back contentedly, each with a pile of sweets that would suffice for a round trip to Pluto.

However, almost immediately after the food cart vanished, the door flew open again, this time banging so hard it almost closed. A very well-dressed blond boy sauntered in, followed by two quite large cohorts. Or rather, bodyguards.

"Potty and Weasel having a little afternoon snack, hmm?" Draco Malfoy asked in a sly, drawling tone. Then he turned to look squarely at Ron. "I bet Pothead had to buy those for you, seeing as your big Weasel mommy and daddy can't pay for a pair of matching socks."

Ron turned scarlet and shuffled his feet, so that his pants covered more of his ankles. Harry clenched his fist in his pocket.

"You better get the _hell_ out of here, you git," he growled.

"And _you_, Pottyface, better shut it quick. You don't know who's watching you these days."

And with that, he smirked, waltzed out, and slammed the sliding door.

* * *

Arista

Malfoy seems awfully happy. And, like Harry says, whatever makes Malfoy happy cannot be good.

Speaking of Harry, where _is_ Harry? Hermione, like me, is scanning the crowd for any sign of tousled black hair and green eyes. The Sorting's halfway done and he's still n--

Wait, wait, wait. Hermione, shakes my shoulder lightly and points.

I see him coming towards us, politely cutting through the line of frozen first years, awaiting their turn to be sorted. His face is _covered_ in blood. Stifling a gasp, I jump out of my seat. Smothering the impulse to run, I calmly walk towards him, as not to draw unwanted attention.

When I reach him, I grab his collar, drag him back over to Hermione, and brusquely seat him for questioning.

"What did you do this time?" Hermione and I both ask in unison. Ron looks up from his turkey.

"O 'i aey," he says, his mouth full of half-chewed food.

Harry however, does not answer, just looks pointedly at Dumbledore, who's about to start his speech. I roll my eyes. Like Harry would ever listen to a speech. He's just evading the question.

Grudgingly, I fix his nose and turn, also, to hear the Headmaster talk.

I know it was Malfoy. Many will rejoice the day that I decide to hex his face in and stuff his carcass with tomatoes.

**Kannilia:** Well, what do you think? Good start? Bad start? Horrid? Reviews please, reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

Arista

"_... and so your homework is... fifteen-inch essay... Wednesday... N.E.W.T. qualifications... imbeciles... not pass..._"

Snape's irritating, monotone voice flowed in and out of my head, in one ear and out the other. Harry and Ron, to the right of me, stared at the intricate wizards' clock in the corner, dazed looks on their faces. In fact, after taking a look around, no one was paying any attention at all, except for Hermione. And she doesn't even count.

Slowly, without intention, my gaze wanders to the windows, high above us. Surprised, my eyebrows shoot up past my hair.

A petite, grey owl is fluttering against the window, a letter in its beak. Quickly, I pull out my wand and direct it at the lock. _Alohomora,_ I say in my head, focusing, hard. Finally, there's that satisfying click; the owl drops the letter onto the floor and takes off, bobbling up and down in the wind.

Immediately, I summon the envelope to me and tear it open.

_Ris_

_How are you? I'm doing pretty well. The Order is still having trouble recruiting people, but we're doing better. Right now, I'm spying on the Malfoys' place, we think they're using it as a base. Pleas don't write back, it's not secure. This particular owl is enchanted, only you can see it. Maybe we can chat on a Hogsmeade weekend?_

_Stay safe,  
_

_Carlin_

So Carlin is spying on the Malfoys. My beloved dear cousin is spying on the Malfoys. How happy that makes me. How secure. How good it is knowing that _someone_ cares about me enough to add something _more_ to my pile of worry here. And he's telling _me_ to stay safe? While he's running around spying on dangerously insane criminals? Yeah _that_ makes sense. I can feel my fists shaking, I'm so angry. My fists never shake. Ever. _Shit,_ I told him not to go. But _he _doesn't listen to _me_, does he? The moron's only nineteen, *dammit. Oh if he lives to see--

A slimy voice interrupts my mental raving.

"And so _what_ is it, Miss Grace, that is even more interesting than our N.E.W.T. lecture, hmm?" Snape asks. _Lots of things,_ I want to say. _My fingernails, my sketchbook, the sky, the Quidditch field, my feet_-- but I don't. The words I have trained myself to say over five-- going on six-- years catch in my throat.

"I'm sorry," I hiss. Quick as lightning, Snape's hand lashes out and plucks the letter from my hand. Terrified, I lunge at his arm and snatch it back, before he can read it. He stares into my eyes, greasy face placid. _Keep your mind closed, don't think_, I hear my mind recite frantically. Panicking, I look away.

"Well, if I can't read it, you can't either," he says maliciously. _Already read it, sucker,_ I think to myself. Snape seems hear my mind. The letter bursts into flame between my fingers. Snape continues.

"As so it happens, I _have_ read it. '_Dear love, how are you? I just can't wait to see you again. Our last meeting was enthralling. Sealed with a kiss, Arista Grace._'"

I just gape at him in horror, my face turning flushing humiliatingly. Everyone is laughing, except for the Gryffindors. Hermione has her hands clasped over here mouth, a look of sheer fury on her face as she glares at Snape. Lying little sniveling Snape.

"Since you have displayed such an incapability to pay the appropriate attention in class, you are now excused. Also, on the essay that I am sure you know nothing of, it's an automatic D. D for Dreadful. Or actually, let's make that a T. For Troll. Good day, Miss Grace, I'll see you Saturday and Sunday for detention, eleven a.m., sharp."

Glaring, I grab half of my books, knocking the rest off the table. Quickly, angrily, my feet stride towards the door. Suddenly, however, my foot catches on something and I go toppling. Hovering on the line of tears, I pick myself up and leave to the sound of howling Slytherins.

* * *

"That was horrible, how Snape was today," Hermione says lividly.

"Yeah, sorry about that Ris," Harry adds, putting an arm around my shoulders. "But Snape's just a severely deranged idiot anyway, right?"

I laugh. "Thanks guys, seriously. But it's okay, really."

And then Ron pipes up. "You don't seem okay though."

I tell them that I'm fine. No, really, I'm fine. Really. But knowing me for six years, 'I'm fine' just doesn't cut it anymore, I guess. So, grudgingly, I take out the letter and thrust it at Ron, who hands it to Hermione, who then gives to Harry, who gapes. Next, Hermione just _has_ to go on and ask me if I'm worried. Well of course I'm worried, I tell her. And then, _then_, the tears come, fast.

Promptly, one-by-one, they all come and crouch by my side, their arms around me. It's weird of course, being surrounded by three silent sixteen-year-olds, but oddly comforting. Friends. That's what you'd call it.

Finally, "Th-th-thanks," I manage to choke out. Standing up, I quietly climb the stairs to the girls' dormitories and slip inside.

Just now, it occurs to me what I tripped on. It was-- a very expensive shoe.

**Kannilia:** There comes a time in everyone's lives to make another person joyful. This is yours-- write me a review!


	3. Chapter 3

_The clouds bristled, scattering frigid rain across the frozen earth. The short scent of summer's end wafted over the world, silent. Abruptly, it rained harder, the pounding of marbles falling from the sky washing out everything else. Tall wisps of wind walked along the ocean shore, holding hands, ready to let go._

_On this very cold day, a boy of sixteen sat on a beautifully carved myrtle wood bed, biting his lips raw. He was hovering in the realm between dread, nervous breakdowns, and pure joy. Suddenly, there came a sharp knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door swung open on expensive, oiled hinges._

_"Draco, it's time to go." _

_Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood stiffly in the doorway, shakily holding hands, as if they hadn't done it in a long time. Then, smiling encouragingly, his parents started down the hallway, motioning for him to come. Without a word, Draco followed._

_The Malfoy Manor was a beautiful mansion, with elegant, enchanting architecture. There was something though, something. Always, even on the sunniest, most gorgeous days, there was something lonely, desolate, foreboding. But you couldn't ever put a finger on it. _

_Out of this house the family stepped, clothed heavily in warm cloaks and such. Lucius, in the middle, placed a hand on both his wife's and son's shoulders, preparing. In a swirl of black, they were gone._

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_They arrived near the end of a long, rocky spit, protruding into the ocean. There was no one, only the three of them. Unless... _

_Draco squinted, unsure of himself. A tall, black clothed figure stood in the distance. It appeared to be waiting for him. Then, to his surprise, more figures appeared, lining up near the first, each a wisp of ebony smoke. And Draco Malfoy knew, it was them. _

_Reluctantly, he started off down the shore, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He could see their skeletal, silver masks gleaming, even in the dim light. Finally, there was nowhere left to walk._

_"Welcome, Draco."_

_The Dark Lord's malicious, high-pitched voice sounded like the clang of metal in Draco Malfoy's ears. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his face._

_"You all know," Voldemort addressed his followers. "This is the day. You are here, you know why. We are here to see a new beginning, a soul lifted from the earth to our level. Is that not why you've come?"_

_Draco's heart was climbing up his throat._

_"Draco, give me your arm."_

_Gulping, he obeyed, raising his left forearm. _

_Carelessly, the Dark Lord made a slashing movement, a deep, angry gash appeared, pouring blood onto the ground. Then, he raised his wand lightly, almost as if it were some sort of vial. A black, luminescent liquid spilled out, washing around the cut. Immediately, it began to heal, pulling the dark liquid in with it._

_For a moment his arm was flawless. Then, pain, excruciating pain. He doubled over, gasping for air. He couldn't fall though, anything but fall. _

_Horrible things, visions, flew by his eyes, just out of reach. Black, white, a flash of green. But suddenly, he felt joy. It was immense. The pain stopped, quickly as it started, and Draco straightened himself out, peering again at his arm._

_Slowly, slowly, a silhouette of a leering black skull and snake appeared, darkening until it was opaque. _

_And it was done. Draco Malfoy victorious. Excitement coursed through his veins, making him dizzy. He knelt down at the Dark Lord's feet._

_"Thank you, my lord."  
_


	4. Chapter 4

Draco

Weasel and Pothead are looking at me.

Pothead is trying to explain something to Weasel, who apparently doesn't believe it. He's looking at me, gawking. _Every heard of subtlety?_ I sneer in my head. Finally, Pothead gives up and turns to Mudblood, seeing if she will support him. Not likely, I hope. Nothing he has to say is even close to the truth.

But when Pothead makes a gesture towards his left forearm, I forget to breathe, my veins running cold. Now, Aris-- Ridiot, I mean, pipes up, cocking her head towards Katie Bell, who's back in school.

They can't possibly know, can they?

Suddenly, Ridiot flashes me a loathing glare, here eyes searing with hatred. I panic. _She knows, she knows, she knows._

Not even remembering to pull a superior smirk at her, I jump up and sprint out of the Great Hall.

* * *

The vanishing cabinet's doors swing open, sending a rush of musty air into my face. The swirling film of dust over its sides tell that it hasn't been touched in a long, long time.

Apparently, they're very picky and hard to handle, most books having described them being extremely tricky and dangerous. To put it simply, this is Plan C.

Quickly, I get to work. I've memorized the directions from Bathilda's A Guide to Vanishing Cabinets, but I still have the book here, just in case.

_---time! zooming forward!!! lalalalalalaaaa!!!---_

It's eleven o' clock.

I step back from the vanishing cabinet and groan, frustrated. I'm on step two. _Cleaning_ it. Six hours cleaning a stupid cabinet, just so it wouldn't hate me and explode. What are there, like, fifty sets of directions?

Gritting my teeth, I cover up the cabinet and stalk out of the Room of Requirement, shutting the door lightly as possible.

* * *

Arista

Hermione is laughing in her sleep.

It's a quiet laugh, a real one. I'm glad she's not having nightmares, the ones I do. Hermione has been, well, I guess you could call it eminently miserable. It's probably because of Ron and Lavender. I've been trying to make her feel better, I really have. We study together, chat by the fire, and knit things for Dobby.

But when she's not with me, you could effectively call her a rain cloud.

Carefully, as not to wake anyone, I slip out of bed, my well-practiced feet landing perfectly in my shoes. Pulling my cloak over my shoulders, I tiptoe through the dark common room to the boys' dormitories.

Immediately as I pull the door open, loud, thought-intruding snores fill my ears. Everyone's asleep--

--except Harry.

I approach his four-poster, my footsteps barely audible.

"Hi," I whisper, sitting down at the foot of his bed.

He looks up at me, grinning sheepishly. "Oh, hey," he smiles. The Marauder's Map is clutched tightly in one hand, his phoenix feather wand in the other. I know he's been looking for Malfoy; he won't put that map down. I can't really say if I believe his whole theory. I wouldn't bet on it though, that's for sure.

"So," I continue. "Can I borrow that map?"

Harry looks at me suspiciously. "Midnight wanderings again?"

"Hey, you do it too," I laugh, knocking him playfully on the head.

"Yeah, fine then. Here."

"Thanks," I reply.

* * *

Draco

I blast of icy wind smacks me in the face, stinging my eyes.

Hastily, I bury my frozen, sore fingers in my expensive pockets. The door to the Room of Requirement melds discreetly into the wall around it, disappearing completely. Satisfied, I begin slowly shuffling my way back to the dorms. Filch won't be out tonight; it's Saturday, almost Sunday.

The vanishing cabinet is coming along. Luckily, I still have half a school year for it. And, since I gave up my Seeking position on the Quidditch team, I'm all free in the evenings. Except for detentions, of course.

As if on autopilot, my feet take me around the school, stopping here and there so that I can look around. Fair to say, it reminds me of a muggle tour bus. I learned that from our imbecile Muggle Studies professor.

Lost in thought, I finally arrive at the library. Long, heavy shadows stretch over the hardwood floor, silky carpets of black. It's almost like standing in a maze, tall hedges of books towering around me. I remember the time when I actually used to _come_ here. That was, what... five years ago? Crabbe and Goyle would always wait outside, stuffing themselves with chocolate frogs while I studied. Or, rather, researched the Dark Arts.

There's no one here now, it's midnight. Closing my eyes briefly, I turn to--

What was that?

It sounds like music. Maybe... a piano? Intrigued, I quietly follow my ears, cautiously, my weight on my toes. Finally, I reach the very back of the library, the part with a view overlooking the lake. The moonlight trickles in through the windows.

And there she is, fingers dancing across the keys. The sound is... astonishing, _exquisite_.

Undetected, I take a seat on a rickety wooden chair, all ears.

* * *

Arista

My cousin taught me this piece.

Everything reminds me of my cousin. Please tell me that I'm just worrying too much, that everything is going to be okay. But it's hard though. Dottie and Andrew... Well, I'll just say that I'm living with my aunt now.

I have the rhythm right, a beautiful cadenza, all of the crescendos and diminuendos. _Feel_, Carlin had said. I need to have feel. Quivering, my fingers finish up the piece, finally coming to a rest on my shaking knees.

Suddenly, I hear a soft clapping coming from behind me. Alarmed, I jump up and whip around, banging my sides on the satin piano.

Draco Malfoy is sitting on a rustic chair, grinning. In a way, he almost reminds me of Harry.

"What do you want?" I hiss angrily.

The smile vanishes from his face, replaced by a nervous grimace. "I... you... uh, your piece... was really nice," he stammers, wringing his hands.

I raise an eyebrow. "Thanks."

As though unsure of his footing, he stands up and shuffles towards the piano, sitting down on the edge of the bench. Lightly, he places his fingers on the keyboard and begins to play.

Stunned, I watch him for a minute, just standing there, listening. He's... really, really good. I know the piece he's playing. It's a lovely duet, a classic one. I can feel my hands twitching a little behind my back, as if trying to run for the keys. And then, much to my own shock, I sit down next to him. Easing slowly into the music, I begin the other part of the duet, my part.

* * *

Draco

My stomach is knotted with nerves, willing me not to make a mistake.

I still can't believe it.

I'm playing a duet with Arista Grace.

Arista Grace is playing a duet with me.

Unable to resist, I can feel a goofy, un-Malfoy grin spreading across my face, tying ear to ear. This is bliss, more beautiful than anything _I_ ever felt. She feels almost like a best friend, and I've _always_ hated her so much. Ever since the first time I saw her on the Hogwarts Express with Mudblood. I wonder how... she... feels.

Finally, the end of the song arrives, an abrupt jab on our foreheads. Cautiously, I cast a sidelong at Arista. She's smiling.

Blushing profusely, she gets up to leave. Hastily, awkwardly, she thrusts her hand out at me, her eyes searching mine. Without thinking, I take it. It's odd, standing there with my fingers wrapped around her cold, skinny, little hand. She _does_ have pretty hands, though, I'll fess that up.

"Good-night," she laughs. Her deep-set brown eyes are sparkling delicately, deep swirls of--- Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop that, let's not get all poetic here. But she _is_ truly amazingly pretty.

"G-g-good, uh, night," I stammer.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione

Arista is leaning over her cauldron, wrinkling her nose.

I can't help but grin at her expression. Her face is blurred and purplish through the stream of smoke rising from her potion. I'm guessing that she left out the belladonna pulp. Or mashed it with the wrong side of the knife. Either way, she's done something... well, I hate to say it, but _wrong._

Just as I'm about to inform Slughorn that I'm done, I hear a fit of high-pitched giggles explode behind me. Lavender's giggles. As much as I don't want to, I can't resist a small peek back.

Lavender and Ron are completely absorbed in each other, limbs intwined like Devil's Snare. Their two cauldrons are bubbling desolately, as the owners are too busy kissing each other. It almost looks like Ron is eating Lavender's face. It's disgusting. Furious and sick to my stomach, I turn back around to flag down Slughorn, hoping that he'll see those two while he's checking my potion. If only Snape was still here. _Then_, they'd get their stupid arses kicked.

* * *

Arista

Hurriedly, I flip through my potions book, looking for something on Veritaserum. Harry, of all people, has it _perfect_. I don't know how he does it these days. The Harry I know is the absolute_ worst _at potions. Wait, was that the p--

There's a loud slam at the back of the room. Eyebrows raised, I casually tilt my head, observing the scene through my peripheral vision. Hermione, I see, does the same thing. We have a lot in common.

Draco Malfoy is standing in the doorway, looking deeply flustered. He hasn't perfectly combed his hair like he usually does, and his clothes look as if he put them on in five seconds flat. (Wow.)

Quickly, nervously, I turn away, looking at anything but him. Instinctively, my eyes come to a rest on the ever-present clock in the corner. 7:09. So that's why he isn't perfectly groomed. He's ten minutes late. In spite of myself, I can't help but feel slightly triumphant.

"Morning, Draco," Slughorn says coolly.

"Good morning, sir."

Gripping his bag tightly, Malfoy sits down stiffly in the back, his usual spot these days. Slowly, as if his joints are sticky, he takes out his books and cauldron, slamming them on the table. Someone's having problems. Although... what problems, I'm not sure.

Snail-speed, the time inches toward nine 'o clock. As soon as the curved clock hand brushes the figure nine, everyone jumps up and makes a frantic life-bolt for the door. Except for Harry, Hermione and I. And, for some reason, Malfoy.

* * *

Harry

Malfoy is in the corner, methodically placing his books directly on top of each other. It seems as if he's waiting for something.

He's waiting for us to leave.

Seemingly casual, I do the exact same thing he does. Don't call me paranoid, but I think he's up to something. Finally, it seems that I can't go any slower. I pack up my stuff and inch towards the door.

Hermione's waiting impatiently and Ris is already outside, yelling at me to 'hurry my butt up.' Ron, well, he's with Lavender.

"Hey Potter," a silky voice drawls. "Why don't you go a little faster? Looks like your multiple girlies are waiting."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione snarls. "I could just as well call you and your cronies gay."

Malfoy's eyes flash. "I never asked for your opinion, Mudblood," he hisses at her. "You'd better just hope that you're still alive when the Death Eaters are through."

Calmly, I take out my wand and hold it to his throat. "Get out."

Furious, he stalks away down the corridor, disappearing around a turn.

* * *

Draco

Sunlight is, fair to say, blinding.

Luckily, it's just the moon out, and a few stars. We kind of co-exist in each other. It's always there when I'm working on that stupid wardrobe.

Oh, and, I think I'm becoming nocturnal.

Carefully, I dust off the cabinet and lock it up for tonight. Ignoring the fact that I still have a castle's worth of homework to do, I slip out into the corridor and head for the grounds.

Like always, the lake is beautiful. I bet even the Giant Squid knows it. The crunch of wet pebbles under my feet is painfully loud, irritating in the silence.

Finally, I manage to wander my way over to the old fishing dock. It creaks under my feet, even though I try not to make any sound. The rustic wooden structure is like an old, retired veteran, just floating there to enjoy itself. Careful not to fall in, I lower myself onto the edge of the platform, my legs hanging just above the water.

For quite some time, I just sit there, thinking about my Vanishing Cabinet, trying to devise better plans. Normally, I would have been paranoid, jumpy at the least, by sitting out on the open lake with a giant squid floating around somewhere underneath me. But for some reason, today I'm not. My mental sanity is just taking a short lunch hour, that's all.

I got a letter from my mum last week. She said that she went to see my father in prison, that's he's not doing so well. I'll get Potter for this, I swear.

There's a faint splash in the water. Heart pounding, I lean a little farther over the edge, watching intently.

Suddenly, a pair of white, ghostly hands leaps out of the water, gripping the edge of the wooden planks.

Shell-shocked and panicking, I yelp and jump to my feet, stumbling backwards. Something, however, makes me stop. Gathering my wits, I peer at the hands. They're small and for some reason, look quite familiar.

Out of the blue, there's another splash and a dark, sputtering head pops up.

She turns to look at me peculiarly.

"What are _you _doing here?" she asks, sounding genuinely surprised. Almost accusing.

I raise my eyebrows, trying to act calm. "Funny that _you're_ asking _me_ that. What are you doing in the lake? It's freezing--"

I take a closer look at her and my height of incredulity rises. "--and in your school robes, I might add."

Grace looks, well, almost offended. "I'm swimming," she replies, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. "Don't you swim? Or is that below spoiled-rotten, vain, pure-blood blondie-boy morons like you?"

I don't know what to say. Her eyes are glimmering with malice. "I... uh... that's not... I do... swim... uh, need to go now," I mumble. Why do I always crack when _she_'s there? Staring at my shoes, I do a very low-profile turn on the heel and start on my way back.

"Hey! Where are you going? Get _back_ here! Malfoy, get back here now!"

For some reason, her voice makes me stop. So, I comply and turn back around, shuffling towards her soaked figure.

"So," she says casually. "What are you doing out here?"

I can feel my insides freeze up. I can hardly say that I was working on a project that will allow the Death Eaters to come to Hogwarts and help me murder Dumbledore, can I? So, I give her half the truth.

"I was, uh, just... you know, thinking about some stuff."

There's an almost concerned expression on her face, although she is hiding it spectacularly well. Making barely a sound--

* * *

Arista

--I pull myself out of the water to sit beside him, wringing my hair.

"That's why I'm here, too," I tell him, pressing my palms into my knees. "I've got a this cousin, and he's kind of, uh, not doing so well."

Draco Malfoy turns away from me, suddenly stiff. "My dad's in Azkaban," he says quietly.

And I don't know what to say to him. Of course I already _knew_, but I wasn't expecting him to tell me anything. I would never have. No one would. So, out of words, I place my hand lightly on his, just so he knows that I would say something, if I knew what to say.

We're parked on our behinds for a while, staring at the lake's placid, satin surface. It looks like an Arabian filly's glossy coat, shimmering wherever light touches it.

Suddenly, Malfoy starts to laugh. At first, it's just a few muffled snorts, then loud, hysterical hoots. His face is turning inelegantly red and he's rocking back and forth, clutching his palms to his temples.

"You look--" He's coughing the words out, trying not to laugh. "-- like such-- ha-- an _idiot_-- sitting out here with-- me-- and soaking wet-- to boot--"

"Shut up," I snap, shoving my elbow none-to-lightly into his ribs. My classic move. But I can hardly keep from laughing myself; the smile on his face is just too big to miss-- from a couple thousand miles in the air. We're both laughing, clutching our joy-sore sides, shaking.

Finally, I swallow up the last few giggles, wringing my hands to clear my head. Grinning ear-to-ear, I link my arm through Malfoy's, giving him a squeeze.

"You're so stupid," I say dryly, glaring into his charcoal grey eyes. He snorts ironically.

"Like _you're_ not."

I roll my eyes. Still shaking slightly with held-in laughter, I stand up, then grab Malfoy's collar and pull him up next to me. He's looking a little surprised at such 'disrespectful' treatment from a Gryffindor, but complies anyway. Smiling to myself, I grasp his sleeve and start off back towards to castle.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco

I just killed another three hours of my life with that vanishing cabinet.

It's getting way better now, but I still wouldn't put anything in it. The wood's getting more supple, a sign that all of those stupid spells are working.

I hate doing this. In reality though, it's ridiculous. I mean, this is what I always wanted to do. I've been looking forward to something like this for, what now, fifteen years? This moment was tantalizing. But for some reason, it's really not what I expected. Not what anyone expected. This is like--like--that Regulus Black. Look what happened to _him_.

Frustrated, I slam my fist into the tall mirror next to me, letting the shrill, crashing sound drown out my head. My fingers are bleeding hard, running slim, red rivers down my arm. I can't help but laugh bitterly. That's it-- I'm turning into a Harry Potter. Emotionally insane, closed-up, on the brink of self-destruct. This is happy.

Smirking ever-so-slightly, I quietly lock up my cabinet and leave the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Harry

Ron is sauntering along next to me, one of the rare moments that he isn't with Lavender.

"You know, Harry," he says, laughing. "Lav, she's just great, you know? I mean isn't she--"

"Shut up Ron, please," I grimace. "Enough with your 'Lav-Lav', okay?"

He immediately straightens himself out, giving me a peculiar look. "This is about Malfoy, isn't it? Or those weird lessons with Dumbledore? I mean, really, what's wrong with you la--"

"I'm okay," I say through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, and I'm--"

"_Okay_."

"So, just because--"

"Really, just go and run away with your girlfriend of the late. There is _nothing_ wrong with me."

Straining, I force a smile, looking more like an expression of severe pain than anything. Ron, of course, gets the point, and turns around, coughing up a reproachful, 'see you,' before he goes. Little does he know what it's like to have some 'Dark Lord' messing with your brain every night.

Receiving some odd looks, I make a turn against the traffic, heading upstairs to the Room of Requirement, just to check. I doubt I'm going to be able to find it. Apparently, I have no need for it, which is actually sort of true. But how ferret does, I'm not sure. Checking that no one's around, I walk faster, passing Myrtle's bath--

Myrtle's bathroom.

There's a sudden angry shout coming from the inside, and I have a feeling it's not Myrtle. Careful not to make a sound, I painstakingly creep in on the wet floor.

Malfoy's back is to me; he's doubled over, clutching the sides of a sink. Next to him is a small, slender, dark-haired figure. _Arista_? What is she _doing _with that ferret? Straining my ears, I slip in a little further.

"Draco, listen, what is wrong?" Arista says. Her voice is filled with concerned intensity."You can't just go disappearing and trying to _kill_ yourself! Where do you even--"

Malfoy stiffens up and whips around, gripping her by her shoulders. He's shaking visibly all over.

"I don't. Have. A choice," he says through clenched teeth. I can see his reflection in the mirror now. His eyes are brimming with hard tears. "He's going... to kill me... and my parents... if I don't."

He looks desperate, high-strung, terrified. Arista seems to see it too. Aris--

Suddenly, her gaze locks on mine, shocked, accusing, hurt. Just as she's about to speak, Malfoy turns around, wondering what she's staring at. And then he see's me.

Eyes clouding with anger, he pulls out his wand, an unknown spell flashing towards my head, missing by inches. Jumping to alert, I do the same, so does Ris.

"_Proteg--_"

"_Cruci--_"

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!_" I yell, hoping for something good. In a flash of white light, Malfoy flies back, disappearing around the corner. Arista glares at me and runs to see what happened. As if with rusty joints, I uncertainly follow her, my footsteps faint splashes in the half-flooded bathroom.

If only I'd known that the result would be a little... _too _good.

Malfoy is lying on his back in a pool of water, bright red blood sputtering from his mouth. Horrified, my gaze travels down his body.

A huge, gaping gash stretches from his shoulder to his his side, pouring blood. It's almost as if I took a jagged scalplel and tore it down Malfoy's front. His face is white, all signs of life drained from it, as if sucked away by a ruthless dementor. Someone, like... _me_.

Swaying with nausea, I clamor to his side, kneeling down. Malfoy's face is hazed over with pain, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "No," I whisper to myself. I look at Arista, the look of pure, horrified astonishment rips at my heart. "I'm so sorry... I didn't know... Ris--"

"Get _away_ from him," she snarls. Gritting her teeth, she slips her arms around Malfoy's dragging him away from me. I take a small step forward.

"Ris--"

"_SHUT UP, YOU BASTARD!_" she screams. "_Get_ someone." Her eyes are whispering, _I don't want to hear it, just go away, just leave._

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, banging back onto the wall. Snape struts in, an sneer on his face. "Potter," he drawls in slimy voice. Then, his eyes travel to Malfoy, and then Arista, who's still glaring at me, her face lined with hatred. Falling immediately silent, he leans down over Malfoy, tracing his wand along the wound, muttering something. As if pulled by an invisible force, Malfoy's cut begins to knit together, healing itself.

When he's done, his black eyes slice into mine, and I know what's coming next. Panicking, I try to hide anything in my mind. But as fate might have it, a blurred copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ swims before my eyes.

"Miss Grace, you may leave," he says shortly. Grabbing barely-conscious Malfoy with one arm, he turns to look at me again. "Potter, get your potions book an wait for me here."

I gulp, my stomach clenching with nerves. If he saw my grafitied potions book, he would know everything. The reason I had top potions scores, felix felicis, the Sectumsermpa spell, _everything_.

"Do it _now_."

"Y-yes, sir."


End file.
